


Garashir Fluff Vignette Collection

by IcyKali



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship in Some Chapters, Fix-It of Sorts, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyKali/pseuds/IcyKali
Summary: A collection of drabbles highlighting the heartwarming. domestic, sweet, and silly nature of the relationship between Bashir and Garak. Even in any melancholy or stressful scenarios, their enduring love will shine and be the focus.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 81





	1. Reassociation Taboo

**Author's Note:**

> Over lunch, Bashir and Garak discuss the Trill reassociation taboo.

Doctor Bashir sipped his Tarkalean tea, an adorably pensive look flitting across his face. “Garak, what do you make of Jadzia’s fight to break the reassociation taboo?” he asked.

“Love is an area that is uniformly difficult to police. And the rule itself has a stunning number of assumptions baked into it, wouldn’t you say?” Garak smiled, knowing precisely what had brought this on. Oh, while Doctor Kahn had been on the station, Bashir had of course told him, in excruciating detail, of the awkward dinner he suffered through for Commander Dax—he had owed Garak an explanation. After all, he had canceled dinner with Garak for Dax’s sake. But at the time, Bashir and Garak had not chosen the taboo itself as a topic for one of their characteristic discussions. No, of course Bashir would wait until their relationship further blossomed. “After all,” Garak continued, “no individual remains the same at any given moment, particularly not individuals as vivacious as Commander Dax. Trill society might as well place a ban on all romantic relationships.”

Bashir nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He leaned across their lunch table conspiratorially. “I'm only telling you this because I know you can keep a secret,” he said, softly, “but I think the fact that Jadzia and Doctor Kahn kept vacillating about whether or not defy that rule means their tragic separation was the inevitable outcome—I think to fight this sort of thing, you have to do it wholeheartedly.”

“Of course, Doctor. People with greater conviction have been interrogated and sent to labor camps for lesser offenses. A moment of doubt is all it takes for something like this to fail in the early stages of development.”

“Hm, glad I don't have any doubts about my own situation.” Bashir blessed Garak with one of his radiant smiles, like concentrated sunlight. 

Garak made a show of smiling back, but he knew his own smiles could never compare to his dear doctor’s—Garak’s were brief as the bloom of the Capellan flower and far less bright. “What sort of taboo could you possibly be thinking of breaking, Doctor?”    
  
“Fishing, Garak?” Bashir glared at him fondly. 

Garak’s heart swelled with warmth. “I'm afraid fishing seems to be an activity you engage more in, Doctor. Although, perhaps you have graduated to trapping.”

“Lucky for you that you're just a washed-up old queen—if I had been a honeypot, you would indeed have been trapped!”    
  
“Doctor! I'm scandalized!” Garak put his hands up. “I assure you, if you had been a honeypot, I would have immediately had you killed.”

Bashir looked down and chuckled, and Garak followed suit. But soon, Bashir looked back up to meet his gaze. “...I love spending time with you,” Bashir said. 

Like a handful of sand dispersing in water, a dusty blue color spread over Garak’s face, the most color settling in the teardrop-shaped depression on his forehead. 

Bashir cocked his head at him. “Well, aren't you going to say it back?”

“This is certainly fishing now!” Garak snapped.    
  
“It is. Listen, I'm going to start eating the food off your plate if you don't say it.” Bashir stabbed at the air with his fork.    
  
“Threatening me, Doctor?” Garak asked. “There is hope for you yet!”    
  
“Good. Now, say it.”    
  
“Very well.” He sank into his chair just a bit, miming defeat. “I also love you—spending time with you.” His and Bashir’s eyes widened.    
  
Garak barely registered Bashir asking, “Did you do that on purpose?!”    
  
Garak stared down at the table, the colors and heat signatures all rippling together as if they were caught in a heat shimmer. When had the air become so thin in the Replimat? It seemed he could barely take in enough no matter how much he breathed. He shivered each time he drew in the air. 

“...You're trying to think of a plausible lie to tell me, aren't you?” Bashir asked.   
  
“No,” came the automatic answer. With just his eyes, he glanced at Bashir, whose blatantly unsurprised expression was almost as romantically charged as a shot in the neck.    
  
“Awww, you are!” Bashir veritably squealed and reached out and patted Garak’s arm repeatedly.    
  
“Doctor, if you insist on patting my arm, your elbow's going to end up in my food!”   
  
“I have to do something! I can't touch my forehead to yours across the table, after all!”    
  
Garak rolled his eyes, even though his head was still titled down. “You could take my hand, Doctor,” he whispered.    
  
Garak was rewarded with the lovely sensation of Bashir sliding his hand down his arm before intertwining their fingers and pulling their palms together. 

“Goodness, my dear Julian, holding my hand above instead of below the table? How bold of you!”    
  
“It is, I have no doubt in my heart, my dear Elim.” He made their arms bounce like a partially relaxed thread dancing in a gentle breeze. 

It took all of his conviction, but Garak managed to look up briefly at Bashir, though he knew that was inviting an even greater blue tide. As he contemplated how he felt more surety now than ever before, Garak stoked the back of Bashir’s hand with his thumb.


	2. Coming Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bashir comes out to Garak.

Garak’s quarters were delightfully dim, the brightest light source being the framed holophoto at his bedside. Doctor Bashir had once lamented the room’s minimal decoration, decrying the style as unfitting of a tailor, so Garak had struck back by collecting the most unflattering snapshots of the doctor and placing that series in a frame. However, unlike the photo of Bashir shoveling food into his face that Garak could see in his peripheral vision, the real Bashir who sat before him was eating uncharacteristically carefully. When Bashir’s tongue peeked out of his mouth in order to clear away a spot of Yamok sauce, Garak wanted dearly to lean in and catch the tongue between his lips.

Yet before he could rise from his seat at dinner in order to make his idle fantasy a reality, Bashir took out his medical tricorder, which shone like a beacon in the dark room as the doctor activated it. Garak blinked as Bashir performed an ion sweep of his quarters, found nothing, but hesitated to tuck the device away again. Bashir’s shoulders—quivered? 

“My dear doctor, I appreciate the unannounced, justified caution, but I doubt the Founders are planning on interrupting our lovely evening together,” Garak said. 

Bashir’s head snapped up, and he fixed Garak with a blank-eyed stare that Garak immediately knew he never wanted to see again. It was frigid, like that of a soldier who knew they were soon to die. “I only came here tonight because I knew you’d ensure your quarters were free of bugs, but I expect you to check for yourself.” 

“Oh, so checking for bugs is what you were doing? I mean no offense, Doctor, but no skilled operative is going to leave surveillance devices that could be detected with an ion sweep.” Garak got up and crept over to his nightstand, from which he removed his own personal tool-of-the-trade, and was concerned to find that Bashir’s eyes did not even track his movements. Whoever the doctor’s enemy was, they were far and away. Garak paused as he searched the room and held up the device. “A simple tailoring tool, of course,” he said with a smile, but his efforts were in vain. Apparently, Bashir was not even receptive to humor.

Eventually, Bashir left his seat and instead moved to Garak’s mattress, a move Garak appreciated—Bashir clearly needed some support. Garak approached, and, seeing no change in Bashir’s expression, gently sat down beside him. “My dear doctor, I believe that keeping your eyes so wide must be drying for a human.”

Bashir hands clenched at these words. “Garak, do you remember our second meeting?”  
  
“Our second…? When you joined me at Quark’s?” 

“Yes.” Bashir sucked in a breath and turned to him. “And you told me, ‘Join me, Doctor. Enhance my evening.’ Did you mean anything deeper with these words?”

“I—” Whatever it was he had been expecting, it had not been this. “Well, Doctor, only the usual—” 

“Garak, this is of the utmost importance!” Bashir snapped. “Did you mean to imply anything about me with that turn of phrase? Did you know?!” 

Garak lamented the fact that it would be inappropriate to massage Bashir’s tense shoulders. “I was operating under the assumption that you were gay, yes. But, Doctor, I believe we’ve already had many discussions about what it means for humans to leave… the closet, as you say?”  
  
“Damn you, Garak! I’m not talking about my being gay!” Bashir looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe it. You really never figured it out, did you? Even the heir to the Obsidian Order couldn’t see it.” He chuckled ruefully. 

Garak put a hand on Bashir’s taut arm. “My dear, before you bring out such insults, perhaps it would do to ‘use your words’ as you’ve asked me to do many times before.” 

Bashir slowly nodded, his eyes glazed. It was the look of a person lost in the past. “There was once a little boy named Jules Bashir, who never got to flourish as he deserved and who I never met. 

“When he was six, he was small for his age, and a bit awkward physically, and he knew he wasn’t doing as well as his classmates in school. In the first grade, while the other children were learning how to read and write and use the computer, he was still trying to tell a dog from a cat, a tree from a house.”

Garak squeezed Bashir’s arm. “But of course. Dogs and cats are quite similar, being furry quadrupedal mammals. And on earth, trees and houses are both known for verticality, shelter, and being made of wood. Mister Bashir sounds quite bright.” 

Bashir jolted, returning to the present. “W-What? Really?” he stammered. “But you haven’t even heard—never mind, just… listen to the rest of the story. 

“There were so many concepts that Jules couldn’t master, ones everyone else seemed to take for granted. All that he knew was that he was a great disappointment to his parents. 

“I don't remember when they made the decision, but just before Jules's seventh birthday, they left Earth for Adigeon Prime. At first, Jules was really excited at seeing all the aliens in the hospital. Then, they gave him a room and began the treatments in order to induce accelerated critical neural pathway formation, and his entire world began to change. 

“Over the course of the next two months, his genetic structure was manipulated to accelerate the growth of neuronal networks in his cerebral cortex. These were the excruciating months in which Jules Bashir died and I was born. For my parents, mental ability was their top priority, of course. My IQ jumped five points a day for over two weeks. Followed by improvements in my hand-eye coordination, stamina, vision, reflexes, weight, height. In the end, everything but my name was altered in some way. When we returned to Earth, we even moved to a different city, and I was enrolled in a new school using falsified records my parents obtained somewhere. Instead of being the slowest learner, I was the star pupil. I’m a fraud!” As he finished his tale, tears were pricking in the corner of Bashir's tired eyes.  
  
Garak said nothing, letting the pieces fall into place. Bashir’s childhood fear of doctors, his discomfort at being lauded, his reluctance to utilize his strength and articulation—Bashir was right, it was amusing that he had not understood.  
  
“Well? Go on, say something,” Bashir murmured.   
  
Garak gave Bashir’s elbow a pat before pulling away. “...If that is what your parents did to young Mister Bashir, I shudder to think of what they would have done to a poor six-year old Elim, considering the things I used to say and believe at that age.”  
  
“I can only imagine.”  
  
“You did not choose the Federation post that was as far from Earth as possible simply because you wanted to practice 'frontier medicine,' did you.” He did not pose it as a question. “And when you left Miss Delon, it was because you couldn’t take your entire life being arranged any longer, is that it.”  
  
Bashir nodded. “I knew you’d understand. The only one…” The doctor’s tears spilled over. “I tried to test the waters—with the Jem’Hadar—but when that infant was stranded here, only Odo saw him as a real person. Odo, the most legalistic of us all!”  
  
“I have often found myself surprised by the Constable, as well.”  
  
“But I have no idea if, after what happened, if even he changed his mind.” Bashir shook, as if trying to throw off chains. “And I can barely stand to be around Miles anymore after he doomed the regiment to death—he was talking about them like they were animals! It doesn’t matter that he said he was sorry for disrespecting me—if he knew I was just as engineered, he’d probably think I don’t deserve to live either!”  
  
Garak dodged Bashir’s thrashing limbs and pulled him close, tucking his head into the crook of Bashir’s neck. As the two of them fell back into bed, Garak’s heart sank at how cold and clammy Bashir’s skin felt, when it was normally so warm. He tried to rub warmth back into his body. He heaved a relieved sigh as he felt Bashir reciprocate his hold. “I must say, my dear Julian,” Garak whispered, “I’m surprised you chose to have this conversation in my quarters without even bringing your friend, Kukalaka, to visit.”  
  
“I guess I thought it would be easier to be somewhere less familiar, without Kukalaka—I didn’t want such a strong tie to those days…” Bashir whispered back, “...but I-I am missing him quite a bit right now, you’re right.”  
  
Garak hummed. “I suppose I’ll have to fetch him for you.”  
  
“It’s okay, you don’t have to leave your basking rock quite yet.” Bashir nestled his head against Garak’s. "For years, I've been used to living with the knowledge that any day now, I could be found out, that I could lose my license—but it never really mattered. Not as long as I could stay far away from _them_ , anyway.” He nestled in deeper, and Garak reveled in the feeling of his soft hair against his sensitive ridge. “But over time, I realized that you don’t have the mobility I do, and I couldn’t bear it if I were forced to turn my back on this….”  
  
“Shh, I believe it best if you recover a bit before we discuss any future plans.”  
  
“Oh, and is that a lesson from Counselor Telnorri?” Garak felt Bashir smile against him. 

Garak responded with a mix between a nod and a nuzzle. His eyes widened in realization and he abruptly pulled back to look Bashir in the eyes. “Doctor, you mentioned that your hand-eye coordination and reflexes were enhanced!” 

Bashir grinned. “Yes, I did.”  
  
“During our stint in the Holosuite, when you shot me, I was never in any danger of being killed! My dear doctor, perhaps I ought to take back what I said about there being hope for you yet!”  
  
Bashir laughed, his eyes scintillating like polished jevonite in the low light emanating from the holophoto series nearby. “But, my dear Elim, I kept all of this from you for years. I convinced you of the lie that I could have killed you. Isn’t that all the more impressive?” 

Garak pressed his forehead to Bashir’s—soon, there would come a time when they needed to look to the future and its trials, but they knew that time was not the present.


	3. Emoji Crimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Garak ought to be arrested for emoji crimes! But is he truly the worst emoji user in Bashir's friend group?

Bashir was out drinking at Quark’s with Chief O’Brien, Lieutenant Dax, and Major Kira, hanging out after yet another day in which the station was nearly destroyed, when his personal PADD vibrated. 

“Another medical emergency, Julian?” O’Brien asked.  
  
Bashir grimaced. “I hope not.”  
  
Dax leaned in. “You’d better show us, in case it’s another undocumented phenomenon.”  
  
Bashir nodded and took out his PADD before immediately blushing at the message:

🍉[sent 18:32]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Dax peered at the screen and grinned, as Kira and O’Brien’s eyes widened.  
  
“Ooh, I saw hearts! This watermelon person is a new girlfriend!” Dax exclaimed. “Who could she be?”  
  
Bashir felt his face grow even hotter as he hid the PADD behind his back. “That is private information, Jadzia, thank you very much!”  
  
Kira snorted. “Whoever you’re chasing being private information would be a first.” 

Bashir sipped his drink, still holding the PADD behind his back with his other hand. “There’s a first time for everything.” As if on cue, the PADD vibrated again. 

“Well, better not keep her waiting!” O’Brien said. 

Bashir spun around on his barstool in order to hide the messages from his friends. He furiously responded: 

🍉[sent 18:33]

Tell me, Doctor, what do those symbols mean? They come in so many colors! Could they be gemstones?

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:34]

You know very well what they mean, Garak!!! 

...My friends are asking who “🍉” is supposed to be, by the way. They think you’re a lady friend. 

As Bashir saw that Garak was typing a response, he heard O’Brien say, “Naming someone with an emoji, huh. Definitely something you’d do, Julian.”  
  
Bashir shot him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean, Miles?”

“It’s not very mature, is all,” O’Brien said.  
  
“Are all of us in your list of contacts named with emojis?” Dax asked.  
  
Bashir huffed and exited his messages, bringing up his contacts list instead. He held his PADD up for just a moment and scrolled through the names. “No, you are not! There’s your proof,” he grumbled. Of course, he immediately received another message: 

🍉[sent 18:36]

You: 🎾⭐ Me: 🍉🧚‍♂️

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:37]

Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself. Didn’t you used to say emojis were limiting and uncreative?

🍉[sent 18:37]

🍉🏳️‍🌈👖🔫 **🎀**

Bashir gave in and resorted to using Garak’s own methods against him: 

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:37]

🛑

Meanwhile, Kira waved to someone over by the stairwell who Bashir could not see. “You don’t have to sit there staring. You can join us!” 

In a move that Bashir figured nearly sparked a heart attack in O’Brien, the extra table by the stairs transformed into Constable Odo. The constable strode over and glanced between Dax and O’Brien. “Thank you, Major. Is it true that it’s considered immature to use an emoji in order to identify someone?”  
  
Kira’s smile highlighted her nose ridges. “Do you mean you've done that before, Odo? I don’t think it would be immature if you did. I’m always happy to see you have fun.”

To Bashir’s immense relief, Dax stopped trying to get a glimpse of his PADD and instead waggled her eyebrows at Kira, though from the way Kira and Odo cocked their heads in time, they did not seem to understand what she was insinuating. 

Odo ignored Dax. “I've never given anyone an emoji name, Major,” he said, taking out a PADD of his own, “but I did give myself a reminder that I should always keep a close eye on Quark.” In Odo’s contacts list, there it was: “Quark👀.” At the looks he was receiving, Odo asked, “Is that not how you humanoids use these symbols?”

O’Brien tapped Dax on the shoulder and made a gesture like zipping his lips before she could burst out laughing. Kira’s smile grew. “That’s so… endearing.” 

Bashir held in a sigh at this behavior. His friends rarely tolerated his own smiling over Garak!

Having heard the sound of his name, Quark rushed over to where they were gathered. “Wait, wait, what emoji were you using for me?” he asked.

“This one?” Odo showed him the screen. 

“If you’re going to do that, the least you could do is put some ears around the ‘Q!’” 

“That would be impossible.” Odo brought up the emoji keyboard. “As you can see, the ear icons only face in one direction. I wouldn’t be able to put an ear on each side.” 

Quark made a disgusted noise. “And the Federation calls this a universal system. They should all be ashamed of themselves.” 

Dax leaned over the bar. “Do you know who Julian’s new girlfriend, Watermelon, might be, Quark?” 

“I think my translator’s malfunctioning. Could you repeat that?” Quark asked. 

Bashir glared at Dax, but she just sent him a smile and continued, “We all saw Julian get a message of a string of rainbow hearts from someone he’s put down as a watermelon slice—”

“Jadzia!” Bashir snapped, clutching his PADD more tightly as it vibrated yet again. “I said that was my own business!” 

Quark snickered at first, and then put his hands on the counter as he laughed in Dax’s face. “You saw him get a bunch of _rainbow_ hearts from somebody he’s calling _watermelon_ , and you think it’s from a mysterious new _girlfriend_?!” He turned to Bashir. “And if you want it to be so private, you shouldn't be going out in public all the time and—”

Odo lengthened his arms and put a hand on Dax's and Quark's shoulders in warning, and Bashir sank into his barstool in relief. “Doctor Bashir's level of discretion isn't the same as permission to gossip,” Odo said. 

Dax pouted, but took out her own PADD instead. “Anyway, I sometimes use emojis in the names of my contacts as well. Take a look, Kira.” 

Kira examined Dax’s contacts list, squinting. She was listed as “👅💦👿.” “What does that mean? It’s about my temper, isn’t it!”  
  
Dax grinned, and for a moment, everyone fell silent out of sheer self-preservation. Apparently aware of the fact that he was the only one who could possibly get away with saying it, Odo eventually said, “It’s a sexual refere—”  
  
O’Brien cut him off, jabbing his finger at Dax’s PADD’s screen. “Hey, who’s that supposed to be?!” He was pointing to a similar entry in the contacts list: “👅💦🌸.”  
  
Dax’s eyes widened. She hastily pocketed the PADD and rose from her barstool. “You know, I’d really better head back to the labs—”  
  
“That’s Keiko, isn’t it?!” 

Dax broke into a run, with O’Brien hot on her heels. Kira and Odo shared a look, but did not pursue. Missing his and Garak’s own nonverbal communication, and seeing no reason to hang around with Miles and Jadzia gone, Bashir finished his drink and left the bar behind. He took the stairs and started weaving through the crowd, trying to make his way to Garak’s Clothiers. As he walked, he took a look at the disaster zone that was his messages: 

🍉[sent 18:40]

🍉[sent 18:41]

🍉[sent 18:42]

🍉[sent 18:43]

Bashir bit his lip. Each tennis ball was like a jab in the eyeballs, and Garak damn well knew it! He messaged him back his punishment, and the cursed conversation continued, each exchange punctuating his steps: 

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:45]

🚫🤝

🍉[sent 18:45]

😱

🔫?

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:46]

💥🔫😈

🍉[sent 18:47]

😏🤲

Doctor Julian Bashir [sent 18:47]

🙏🏽

🍉[sent 18:48]

🥰

And with that final message, Garak’s shop came into view. Bashir pulled the PADD close and held it over his heart, enjoying the smoothness against him as he smiled. His every thought was full of delight for how lucky he was. 


	4. Hearsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A followup to "The Wire." Another character has a unique perspective on Bashir and his relationship with Garak, which has deepened after the crisis with the implant.

There had been rumors of all sorts about whatever it was Garak had done against the Cardassian State that had resulted in his exile. Nurse Jabara did not know any more than her colleagues did about that particular situation—what deal Garak had cut with Bajor or the Federation that secured his position, though she knew it had nothing to do with tailoring. On her own time, she furiously speculated with her fellow nurse, Hortak, about everything the presence of the recently-deactivated implant implied, but of course she kept her thoughts private otherwise. After all, if Garak’s tact in letting her know which shade of red did her complexion no favors had not been enough to endear him to her, what he had done for Doctor Bashir certainly had. 

Finally, after enough days of the doctor returning from lunch beaming brighter than all the lights in the infirmary, Jabara’s excitement won out over her professionalism. “Doctor, welcome back.”    
  
Bashir nodded, looking right past her. He all but floated into his office, and even though the two of them rarely talked outside of surgeries, this time she followed. He was reclining in his desk chair, fiddling with his PADD, but from his dilated pupils and blushing cheeks, it was obvious that his mind was not on paperwork. 

Jabara could not help but smile down at him. “How was our escapee, Garak, today?”    
  
At the mention of Garak, Bashir spun to face her, awakening from his daydreams—or maybe more lost in them than before? “Fine. As infuriating as ever.” Bashir’s eyes were looking wide and bright for once, though he still sported his usual periorbital puffiness. “I’m still keeping a close eye on him as he recovers. He’s incredibly resilient—I’ve been looking into the medical files which were recently unlocked, and I’d say the trait stems from past training, not simply Cardassian biochemistry. A double-edged sword, if ever I’ve seen one.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s doing so well,” said Jabara. It was interesting to have the implied confirmation that Garak had been a trained, high-ranking agent, but this was not what the subject she was eager to discuss with her friends. “Doctor, I couldn’t help but wonder… was what I saw the first time?” 

“The first time? For what?” 

“The first time you and Garak did this.” She put her palms together and interlaced her fingers. 

The blush, initially faint, spread across Bashir’s face like wildfire, and his eyes went wider than she would have thought possible for him. The young doctor was always unflappable in the face of a medical emergency, something that impressed her—she realized that apparently, love was better at shaking him, and felt like laughing. At first, it seemed he might tell her that was not her business. But instead, his gaze flicked every which way before settling on the blinking displays of his workstation. “...Yes,” he murmured. 

At that, she did laugh. “Congratulations!”

Bashir groaned and drew a hand across his face, seeming to consider putting his head in both his hands at first, only to decide to face the embarrassment. “Yes, well, perhaps one day I’ll be the one dying and we’ll kiss in the human way!” 

“I’ll be excited to tell our colleagues!” she exclaimed. “Garak’s a good influence on you.”    
  
Bashir smirked. “He gives me an outlet for my verbosity, you mean?”    


“Not at all?” Come to think of it, people did often say the doctor was talkative. But she felt as if she had heard more gossip about Doctor Bashir’s talkative nature than she had actually heard him speak, not counting barked orders during emergencies. “I was just thinking about how happy he makes you—how levity is good for you.”   
  
“Are you saying I take things too seriously?” Bashir asked, sounding oddly taken aback. 

“You do excellent work, but you have the half-dead look about you I see in new doctors all the time… and it’s only compounded by the taxing atmosphere onboard. A new disaster striking every day…” As she considered her next words, an image of the doctor and Garak sharing a lunch and gesticulating came to mind. “Garak is usually silly, and has a domestic air about him. I think that's a good combination for you to feel supported.” 

Bashir inhaled deeply as if smelling a flower. “Yes, it is, isn’t it.” There was that dreamy look again. “Jabara, I’m truly sorry if this is out-of-line, but would it be all right if I… shared something about our relationship?”    
  
“Of course!” She pulled up a chair. Despite all the gossip she had heard about Doctor Bashir and Garak separately, there were not many concrete details of their relationship floating around, other than what everyone observed during their lunches. As head nurse, the citizens tended to assume Jabara had additional insight, but until the implant, that was not the case. “What would you like to discuss?”

Bashir laced his fingers together. Jabara wondered if he was remembering kissing Garak. “Certain things Garak said during withdrawal gave me deeper insight into who he is. What he said, didn’t say, half said… I could see what’s important to him, and considering everything he’s been going through, I was surprised to see how much he trusts me.” He swallowed. “And, now that he can’t depend on the implant anymore, I couldn’t help but think about how he’s getting his endorphins from… spending time with me.”   
  
“I thought I’d seen you having lunch together more often than before!”   
  
“It would be rather cruel if I didn’t increase the frequency of our meetings, considering everything.” 

Jabara smoothed her hair back. “By ‘everything,’ you mean how much he loves you?” 

Bashir nodded, this time looking calm, not flustered. “And this is the first time someone else has fallen for me and been the one to try and woo me!” 

“Forgive me if  _ I’m  _ being out-of-line, but that’s very sweet.” 

“Thanks, it means a lot.” Something passed over his face, something sad.    
  
“We’re all cheering for the two of you, Doctor.” 

He fell back in his chair. “How long do you think Garak and I have been dating?” 

Jabara waited for Bashir to elaborate. 

“Uh, I don’t mean that as a rhetorical question,” he said. “I’m just wondering—what does the team think?”

Jabara had heard something about Bashir dating Ensign Melora Pazlar briefly, but she had never actually seen the two of them together, so she ignored it. “Almost as long as the two of you have been acquainted.” 

“I see… and what makes you think we’ve been dating?” 

Where was the doctor going with this? Garak really had rubbed off on him, if he was playing this kind of game. “Because we’ve seen you on your lunch dates, of course.”

“I have lunch with Lieutenant Dax sometimes, but you don’t think I’ve been dating her. What is the difference?”    
  
“That’s not something as regular as clockwork, and you don’t argue with  _ her _ about literature! And there’s no sparkling energy between the two of you.” And his smiles did not reach his eyes when he was not in Garak’s company, but she felt that was overly personal. “Is that the correct answer?”    
  
“Yes, of course you’re right.” He sounded deflated, but forced a laugh anyway. “It’s funny to me. Commander Sisko knows this, as do you and a few others—but right before this business with the implant started, one of my colleagues from up in Ops who I admire, claimed Garak and I weren’t even really friends, despite everything.” 

Jabara assumed this must have been Chief O’Brien, whose attitude toward Cardassians was no secret. She would not be surprised if he judged Garak as harshly as if he were the worst of the oppressors. “I’m sorry to hear that, Doctor. But you shouldn’t let somebody else’s prejudice—” 

“In fact, I don’t think anybody who works in Ops other than Sisko thinks we have anything other than a tenuous friendship!” He barely took a breath. “Garak’s head over heels in love with me but he’s still cautious, and no wonder, if half my coworkers think we’re barely friends and the other half thinks we’re a perfect match!” 

Jabara knew Doctor Bashir did not have the greatest reputation with the Ops crew, and that they thought he was inexperienced—they did not understand what being a doctor for a year on this station was like, and Jabara almost wanted to let them know how his work compared to that of the battlefield surgeons she had assisted in the past. Still, she was taken aback that they would go as far as to deny that Garak was his partner. Ops must be the epicenter of all the station’s chaos, she thought. “Doctor, you’ve talked about his feelings, and our feelings, and their feelings,” she said, “but how do you feel about your relationship? What are your feelings for Garak?”

“I think it’s still too early to say.” 

Who were the people gossiping about how he was always rushing headfirst into romance? “You’ve been floating around the infirmary every day since it became clear how he feels about you, Doctor. I think that’s a sign.”    


Doctor Bashir’s eyes were shining, as if he teetered on the cusp of an epiphany. “…Time to get back to work!” 


	5. I Never Even Told You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel to the previous drabble, set post-"The Search." After being put through the Founders' simulation, Doctor Bashir must go to Garak.

Doctor Bashir had been in a daze since the simulation stopped running. He would not say he had been freed from it, because he had not. The medical professional within him had idly wondered if he was in a dissociative state, then hushed. Automatically, Bashir had followed behind the senior officers, trading cold cavern walls for cold steel ones. If they had commented on his unusual silence, he was not aware of it. And when he emerged with the crowd from the bay door, guilt and panic gripped his insides like grasping hands. He kept his eyes firmly closed as he let the others hustle him along, shutting out the potential sight of someone waiting for him. Not knowing if anyone was there was torturous, but nothing would have been worse than certainty. The stars beyond the window panes seemed to change shape, blurring and melting together. 

“Doctor Bashir!” Commander Sisko snapped. 

Bashir slowly blinked. When had he ended up here, in Sisko’s office? “I’m sorry, Commander, I… must still be confused. From the simulation.” 

Sisko was staring down at his desk, strangely calm. “You’ll agree, then, as the CMO of this station, that everyone who was trapped in the Founders’ simulation deserves time off.”  
  
“Oh, yes, of course.” Bashir felt heat rise in his waxy, numb face as he realized Sisko must have been discussing this with him as he had not registered a single word. “As CMO, I’d recommend not only medical leave, but also encouraging the officers to meet with the station’s counselor. Being in such a realistic simulation could be damaging to one’s sense of self and reality. And the nature of the events portrayed could certainly be traumatic to anyone involved,” he babbled.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Sisko put a hand on Bashir’s arm, but Bashir still felt as though he had been cut adrift. “I know how it feels,” Sisko added, in a surprisingly hushed tone, “to have to leave your partner behind, wondering if they might still have a shiver of life in them.”  
  
Bashir felt the shiver of life returning to his own body.  
  
“Except he’s still out there. You have another chance—enjoy it and your time off-duty to the fullest.” Sisko released Bashir.

As he drifted out of the office and through the halls, Bashir felt as if he had been spun rapidly around over and over before finally being released. 

There was no chance in hell that Bashir was going to attempt sleep. With all that was echoing in his ears and lurking in his peripheral vision, he did not want to close his eyes for that long. Instead, he strode to quarters that were not his, but that were where he absolutely belonged in the moment. His breathing stuttered and he felt pressure surrounding his carotid artery as the door stood before him like a monolith. After trying to steady his breathing for what he hoped was only minutes and not an hout, he pressed a button on the panel. “...This is Doctor Bashir. I know it’s very late, or rather, very early, but I really need to see you right now.”  
  
No response. Bashir’s abdomen felt like it was spasming. “Listen, I hope you’re decent, but either way I must see you right now because it’s urgent!” His words ran together. “Open the door or I’ll break in with the medical override, and you can consider it payback for breaking into my quarters in the middle of the night—”

He was answered by a soft groan from Garak. “As you wish, my dear doctor. It is only fair, as you say. Give me a moment.” The transmission was followed by the brush of rustling fabric.   
  
Bashir expected his panic attack to subside at this response from Garak, and it did—initially. But as he waited outside the door, Bashir grimaced as the fear became laced with other emotions. What had the Founders been testing, with making Garak so pleasant and accommodating, and clever as always, only to have him taken away? Were they playing a sick game in order to toy with his emotions, to see if how he felt was a humanoid weakness they could exploit? Or was the entire scenario drawn from Bashir’s own mind—like an afterimage of the little girl he had watched die in the ionic storm? His body was certainly tense enough for it to be reacting to an ionic storm. He leaned back against the door, trying not to shiver. It must have been because of him. He has always been an unnatural fool who could never see what was right in front of him, whether it was medicinal herbs or his boyfriend-by-default, always supporting him, until it was too late, and opportunity was plucked away—

Bashir stumbled forward as the door slid open, revealing a very dishevelled Garak. Garak winced at the lighting. “Please, Doctor, close the door.” 

Bashir did as he said, also wanting to be in the dark. 

“We’re not taking a runabout to Bajor, I imagine,” Garak grumbled. 

“No… we’re not.” In spite of everything, the corners of Bashir’s mouth twitched upward as he took in that grumpy, familiar voice and the sight of Garak as a frumpy mess, which was impossible to simulate. Bashir took a deep breath. “Please tell me you read the writeup of the mission.”  
  
Garak circumambulated Bashir, and even in the dark, Bashir could make out Garak’s intent gaze. “And what if I haven’t? Could you possibly be asking me to… lie?” He gasped theatrically. “As a plain and simple tailor, I can’t be certain, but I’d imagine such writeups would be classified.” 

Bashir nodded, not trusting his voice. 

“Threatening to misuse your medical override in order to break into my quarters, counting on a lie, wishing I’d accessed a classified document… I’ve been such an influence on you, Doctor! Before we became so well-acquainted, I doubt you would have ever—” Garak paused, his eyes widening. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down,” he said, gesturing to his unkempt bed. “Such statements can wait.” 

Mouth wobbling with barely-suppressed emotion, Bashir did, but he kept his eyes pressed firmly closed and his head down. Even after Garak took a seat right beside him, Bashir could not look. All he could think about was how he should never have taken for granted that Garak _always_ was right by his side. 

First the tips of Garak’s fingers, then his palm, were pressed to Bashir’s arm. “...You know, Doctor, when you quite rudely refused to face me or say a word in my direction when I stepped out to greet you after your mission, I may just have stumbled upon word of your mission.” 

That got Bashir’s attention. Without thinking, he fixed Garak with a stare. “You were there to greet me?” The panic sank its nails into him again.

Garak’s blue eyes were glassy, and his smile sad. “I recall your discussing a certain human concept with me over lunch… _jamais vu_ , is that it?” he asked, but did not really ask. “Perhaps that term is somehow relevant, or, if I may be so bold, could even be what lies behind your extreme reaction.” He splayed his fingers out over Bashir’s arm. “Perhaps I’ll have to tell you I miss you more often, in order to ensure it is not an eerily new experience for you.” 

With that, Bashir could not hold back the tears any longer. Between sobs, he managed to say, “The fake version of you, his last words were, ‘Doctor, I'm afraid I won't be able to have lunch with you today,’ but all I did was gape as he—as you—died in my arms! I couldn’t even whisper—”

“Understandable, my dear doctor. Those dying words do sound shockingly dull.” 

As the tears continued falling, Bashir clasped Garak’s arms and gazed deep into his beautiful eyes. “I never even told you how I felt—I never even told you that I—” 

In one smooth motion, Garak pulled his other arm between both of Bashir’s and gently pressed a finger to Bashir’s lips. “Shh, there's no need to fret, my dear doctor. I am well aware.”

Bashir and Garak pulled each other close at the same instant, embracing as Bashir sobbed into Garak’s nightshirt. Garak stroked the small of his back. “There, there,” he murmured into Bashir’s neck, “even the most compassionate among us need compassion themselves.” 

Eventually, once the tears ran dry and Bashir felt suitably embarrassed for having smeared snot on Garak’s admittedly-rumpled clothing, they both pulled back a little. Bashir grinned sheepishly. “You pressed your finger against my lips to shush me. Is that like a hybrid between a Cardassian and human kiss?” 

Garak rolled his eyes. “No, Doctor. Cardassians do not kiss with the tips of their fingers. We are not Vulcans.” 

“So,” Bashir said, “does that mean you’d rather palm-heel strike me in the lips, instead?”  
  
“No. We’re also not Klingons.” Garak gave him an exasperated, loving look. “Or Major Kira or Lieutenant Dax.” 

A thoroughly warmed part of Bashir wanted to suggest they spend this early morning searching for a proper hybrid, but he knew now that it was not wrong to wait. Still, he could not help but say something. “Thank you for being there for me, Elim.” The name just rolled off his tongue.

A dusty blue rose to Garak’s face, a lovely sight Bashir had read about in Cardassian literature and was delighted to see on his quasi-boyfriend. “Y-Yes, well, you’re very welcome,” he stammered, looking away.

“Surprised?” Bashir’s grin became far less sheepish.

“Hm, perhaps.” When Garak looked back at Bashir, his shyness had also subsided. He grinned in answer, and batted his eyes at Bashir. “Though I’m not at all surprised to see how perfectly effective my wooing you has been, my dear Julian!” 

Knowing full well the resilience of Cardassians, and not wanting to indulge Garak in the sight of his own blushing face, Bashir raised his hand as if to invite Garak to hold it. But instead, Bashir slapped Garak across the face, as hard as he could from a sitting position. 

Garak rocked back from the impact and laughed, even more blue in the face. “Goodness Doctor, what strength!” He pointed to him. “A true twunk, if ever I've met one.”

Bashir laughed in return and the tears came again. Many more hugs were had throughout that early morning. 

* * *

At their lunch later that same day, Bashir hovered by the table just to breathe deeply and see that Garak was there, sitting and excitedly awaiting an argument. Bashir pulled up a chair and smiled warmly. “You know, Garak, I think I ought to elaborate on the point I was making earlier.”  
  
“Oh? And what was that, Doctor?”  
  
“When I watched helplessly as you died in my arms, all I could think of was how I never even told you... how your interpretation of that poetry collection was utter garbage.”

Garak gave him a warm smile in return. “My dear doctor, your interpretation was utter garbage, too.”

And if Bashir heard Quark shouting, “Oh, come on!” in the distance, he did not let it bring down his and Garak’s brilliant mood. 


	6. Noticing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short drabble today! Set before Bashir decides to tell Garak about his genetic enhancements.

Garak and Bashir were drinking tea in Bashir's quarters when Garak paused to breathe in the steam. "...Doctor, throughout our acquaintance, I couldn't help but notice you have some very interesting and endearing eccentricities!"

"Really?" Bashir smiled. "I don't think that's how many other people who know me would put it, but thanks, Garak."

"Oh, there's no need to thank me, Doctor." Garak set his teacup down, leading to a satisfying little clink. "Ever since I've observed what excites you, what unnerves you, the way you behave when you think no one is watching, one question has lingered in my mind—may I ask it?"

"Go ahead."

Garak cocked his head. "Do you have autism?"

Bashir choked on his tea and nearly knocked his cup to the floor. His nose burned from snorting the hot beverage. He straightened his back. "W-Well, Garak, I certainly have neurodivergent traits, but I'm not exactly keen on diagnosing anyone unless I think it would be a help to them—I wouldn't go around saying I'm autistic. I'd keep it general."

"Ah, that is a very wise approach!" said Garak, picking his tea up again.

"Thank you. And Garak—you know very well that you can't go around asking just anybody if they have autism!" Bashir snapped.

Garak nodded primly. "I would never go around asking _just anybody_ if they're autistic. I would only ask you, my dear doctor."

"I hate you, Garak."

"The feeling is mutual, Julian."

Bashir tried enjoying his tea for a minute, but something kept nagging at him from the back of his mind. He felt he had a duty to Garak to pick up the thread of the conversation. "...One reason I don't usually label patients who are like myself is that there's a lot of overlap between conditions and each diagnosis comes with assumptions... even from professionals. For instance, many sensory issues and developmental delays can be misdiagnosed as autism. I don't discuss this often, but I experienced a developmental delay in childhood myself, making this an issue close to my heart."

"I do understand, Doctor." He was giving Bashir a calculating stare. Bashir felt frozen. "Tell me," Garak continued, slowly, "was this developmental delay affecting you when you were around five years of age?"

Bashir tried to get his heart rate under control. "Why would that matter to you, Garak? Are you fishing for some particular bit of information...?"

But Garak's smile was soft, and his eyes were shining. "Because, my dear doctor, that would make your tale of saving this little fellow here—" He gestured to Kukalaka, who was sitting on the corner of Bashir's bed. "—all the more impressive!"

Bashir smiled despite himself. "Really, Garak? That's why you were asking? Forgive me if I don't believe it was that simple."

"But am I not plain and simple myself?"

"No, you are not plain and simple, Garak."

Garak huffed. "In that case—no, I suppose it wasn't that simple," he said, tone sour as unripe watermelon, "I had to know when this misguided hero syndrome of yours took root if I'm ever to help you correct it!"

Bashir sighed. It was time to try a different tactic. "All right. And did it _enhance_ your understanding of the situation, Garak?"

"As a matter of fact, it did!" He turned away to glare at Kukalaka. "Now that I understand your small friend is working against my plot, I see I'll have to be even more disagreeable to you." The smile in his eyes belied his words, and Bashir knew he was safe, in more ways than one.


	7. Shortly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one... short like a skant uniform!

Bashir strode over to his favorite lunch table, a big grin on his face. The days of listening to Garak whine about his "hideous Starfleet uniform" were over! As he approached, Garak's head whirled around as he gaped at Bashir, who paused to stand right in front of him. 

"Doctor... what is that?!" Garak's voice came out whiny and choked. 

"It's just a little something known as the skant uniform, Garak!" Bashir stretched and tried to show off his legs. He felt rather bare with them exposed—it would not do to wear this while at work in the Infirmary—but still, he liked how free he felt in it. "They've mostly gone out of fashion, but wearing one isn't disallowed." 

Garak's blue eyes seemed to darken as he looked down at the table. "Please, sit down, Doctor," he hissed. 

Bashir obliged, stupid grin still intact. Garak then leaned in, and Bashir knew—just knew—that this was when Garak would begin gushing about his beautiful, spritely legs, and— 

"I don't mean to be cruel, but that is the most hideous uniform I've ever seen," said Garak, in a hushed tone. 

Bashir blanched. In a lust-filled argument, Garak never spoke quietly or prefaced his statements with "I don't mean to be cruel!" This was a bad omen. "B-But I thought you'd like seeing my legs...?" Maybe sparking a debate would help? "Wait. You told me the most hideous uniform you'd ever seen was the Cardassian guls' uniform! You're lying to me, as always!"

"Of course I enjoy seeing your legs," Garak said, a little sadly, "but clearly no thought was put into that cut or pattern. And unfortunately, as unattractive as guls' dress may be, this might have displaced it." He sighed. "That replacement dress uniform you commissioned from me early in our acquaintance, simple as it is, has a far more attractive cut and shape. In fact, this 'skant' appears to have no shape whatsoever! When I saw you standing still before me, it draped like an unremarkable tube of fabric, and when you were in motion, it became unflatteringly creased, Doctor. Anyone could design a revealing garment, but that doesn't make it attractive by default."

"Oh." Bashir stared into his soup. A cloud of shame hung over him, something he almost never felt when he was around Garak. He cringed at himself. "Would a long dress look any better on me?" 

But Garak perked right up again, which made Bashir feel a bit better. "With how tall and skinny you are, Doctor, undoubtedly! Something backless perhaps... far more flattering for you than being completely covered up!" Garak exclaimed.

"Well, in that case, what about one with one of those Xs made of out of the straps on the back?"

"You call that an 'X made of straps?!' There is a term for it, Doctor!"

Bashir's stupid grin returned shortly.


	8. Missing the Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written based on a plot bunny from user not-an-anagram on Tumblr that had Dax and O'Brien eating lunch at Quark's, overhearing an argument between Bashir and Garak, and assuming it means Bashir hates Garak. It also features Quark translating Garashir interactions. Personally, I think Jadzia Dax would know about this already, but it was a lot of fun to write her as oblivious for once!

Lieutenant Dax and Chief O’Brien were at Quark’s for lunch, commiserating about the newest anomaly that was affecting the station’s systems. Dax was about to ask O’Brien if he ever really thought living on Deep Space 9 as opposed to a starship was going to be safer for his family when she heard Bashir cry out from a table up the stairs, “Listen Garak, you and your interpretation are utter trash, and we both know it!”

Her eyes widened and she whipped her head up to stare at the scene Bashir was making. He was looming over his and Garak’s table, puffing himself up as Garak shrank into himself. He was looking awfully blue in the face, a Cardassian blush.

“...I don’t get why Julian keeps hanging out with Garak if he hates him so much,” said O’Brien.

Dax settled back down. “We both know Julian’s a bleeding heart, Chief. Don’t you think he might feel a little guilty?” asked Dax. She thought back to Bashir’s first days on the station—there was that time he had lost his dress uniform and used that as an excuse to commission Garak and spend more time with him. “When we warned Julian not to make Garak a friend this early in his career, he was really defiant—he probably feels bad for regretting his choice,” she explained. 

O’Brien took a swig of his drink. “I think you’re on to something there. I asked him what was going on with him and Garak the other day, and he clammed up, stuttered, and said it was none of my business! Never seen _him_ look that ashamed, I can tell you that.” 

”It’s too bad... I really thought you’d be a good influence on him.” Dax glanced back up to Bashir who was still making sweeping gestures of fury. “And I saw Garak having breakfast with Odo, so I know Julian isn’t his only friend anymore... how can someone like Garak be this hung-up on one brash young man? Maybe I should visit his shop and suggest he expand his horizons, if you know what I mean!” She winked.

O’Brien gagged. “You know what? Fine. I don’t like Garak, but anything’s better than listening to Julian trying to bully him away.”

Up above, Garak was saying something quietly, meekly, while Bashir was walking all over him. “Why don’t you let me do the talking here, Garak? If you’re this blind, no wonder you can’t tell brown from green!”

”Harsh words, Doctor, from a man who wears that to work every day.” Garak motioned to Bashir’s uniform.

”Well, if I hurt to look at, Garak, no wonder you can’t take your eyes off me. You always are such a fan of self-flagellation!” Bashir had the nerve to grin. “Makes my job all the more difficult. You really do hate me, don’t you?”

“Doctor—“

“Don’t worry, Garak. The feeling is mutual. I hate you, too,” Bashir sounded like he was trying to hiss like a Cardassian and failing. 

Garak gasped and recoiled.

As Dax was experiencing a serious case of bile fascination, O’Brien was groaning. “Quark, you’d better bring us another round.”

“Coming right up!” Quark paused for a moment to look up at Bashir and Garak himself before serving the drinks. “Awww, aren’t they cute?” he said, facetiously. “Arguing again... they should take it to the next level already.” 

“Don’t tell me you want to watch them come to blows?” asked Dax. 

“Not interested in a front-row seat for that, no, and I know Odo wouldn’t appreciate that flagrant disregard for public indecency laws,” said Quark. Dax thought O’Brien was about to ask the very question she had on her mind about that statement when Quark leaned in conspiratorially. “So... who do you want to bet will shoot the other first?”

“Garak’s the shady one and Julian should know what he’s asking for, messing with him, but we won’t let it get that far!” said O’Brien. 

“Is that how the Federation does things?” asked Quark. “You’re professional, what do you call them, cockblockers?”

“Quark, what do you mean?” asked Dax.

“This many past lives and you don’t know? Shooting your lover’s one of the biggest romantic gestures for Cardassians! And Garak and Doctor Bashir are basically a pair of innocent schoolboys, bickering over literature and giving each other chocolates, so you know they’ll go for the schmaltz.”

Dax and O’Brien stared at him like his lobes had fallen off.

Quark was not perturbed. He heaved a wistful sigh. “I remember when Natima shot me. One of the best days of my life. She was even more beautiful than usual.”

“Do you not hear them arguing, Quark? Julian was even saying he hated Garak and that his opinions were—” Dax said, then paused. Her symbiont was tingling with memory as her eyes widened in realization. 

Quark turned to O’Brien. “Weren’t you just here, drinking away the memory of some Cardassian scientist hitting on you by _arguing_?”

O’Brien blanched. “Somebody has to tell Julian!” 

“...How stupid do you think Bashir is? I thought you trusted him with your health.”

Dax was vaguely aware of Bashir and Garak finishing their lunch, O’Brien becoming increasingly frenzied, and Quark getting annoyed, but it felt far away. Eventually, she shot up from her barstool, threw her head back, and yelled, “Iloja of Prim was in love with Tobin!”


End file.
